


The Golden Rule

by R_Knight



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (just because of the alcohol), 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Alcohol, Casual Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Knight/pseuds/R_Knight
Summary: “I just, ah – think, fuck-”“You think fuck?” TJ asks.(In which there is a threesome. In which there is a valiant attempt at a threesome.)





	The Golden Rule

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 3-way by Lonely Island.
> 
> I guess I saw the fountain pics and then that video of Vrana getting a friendly chest? Massage? and some wires got crossed and this happened. I don't know either.
> 
> I'm not sure what the timeline was for fountain swimming and tattoos (god I hope the swimming was before), and whether these three got split up or what, but in this fic TJ, Tom, and Braden went…back to Tom’s.

 

“I just, ah – think, _fuck-_ ”

“You think fuck?” TJ asks, perking up from where he’s collapsed face down on Tom’s bed. They’re all still disgustingly drunk, but the worst of it is starting to wear off now. Maybe.

“No, no fuck, I think – uh,” Braden pauses in his efforts to get undressed, one shoe off and his jeans sort of stuck over his ass where they’re still wet and clinging. “I forget. Tom, be useful,” he sits on the bed, then gestures at his legs, kicking the one with the shoe towards Tom, who’s not even near him.

“Get TJ to do it,” Tom says from his spot on the floor. The carpet he’s lying on is very forgiving and also feels nice against his bare legs, so he’d really like to not move. He’s also not sure he can.

“TJ can’t tie his own laces.”

“I can’t,” TJ agrees happily, squirming about so that he’s on his side with his head resting on one hand, wiggling his bare toes. Tom silently contemplates the relevancy of that fact, and then also the possibility that he might be the less drunk one here, but then he takes stock of himself, and decides that probably not in any way that counts.

“Okay, okay, I’ll help, anything for the best goalie in the NHL,” Tom says. TJ crows in agreement, then hums like two beats of _we are the champions._ Tom’s too busy setting about getting himself upright to join in, and it takes a few false starts, and the realisation that maybe standing is overrated, but soon he gets his elbows and then his hands underneath him so that he can crawl over to the bed. His room is too big and the bed is too far, but he doesn’t feel like he’s being violently spun around if he stays close to the ground.

“ _Wrow,_ ” TJ says, and when Tom looks up from the floor he notices TJ doing…something with his eyebrows, and Braden going increasingly red in the face.

“You okay bud?”

Braden makes a strangled sound, and TJ cackles. “You gonna give him a hand, Tom? Those pants are lookin’ real tight, bro.”

“Jesus TJ,” Braden says, and for a second Tom thinks he’s referring to the half-chub TJ is sporting, but then he really looks at Braden, and, oh. Him too, turns out. Tom sits up, wiping his sweaty hands on his legs and licking his lips. They taste like the beer he was drinking three rounds ago.

“Why are you both, like,” Tom trails off, watching them both watch him. TJ shrugs after a moment when Braden clearly isn’t going to say anything.

“You’re a big boy, Tommy. Big boy, naked, crawling towards us.”

“Oh,” Tom says, looking between them both, then back down at himself. Huh. He doesn’t actually remember taking off his clothes. Hopefully it wasn’t outside.

“Well. I have two hands,” he tells them reasonably. Braden inhales sharply, and TJ cackles gleefully like some kind of sex goblin, already sitting up so that he can tear his clothes off.

Things start happening quickly after that.

“This is gonna be great. Help Braden,” TJ says from inside his t-shirt, tugging it over his head and sling-shotting it across the room. Tom obliges: Braden doesn’t argue when Tom unties his laces and pulls off his shoe, curling his fingers through the beltloops of his pants and tugging them down his thighs while Braden lifts his ass up to help out. TJ kneels behind Braden to tug his shirt over his head, hands skimming way more skin than is necessary, leaving them all mostly naked.

Tom bravely endures the wave of vertigo that hits him when he stands up so that he can climb onto the bed with them, marvelling how much skin is just, like, there. For his perusal.

“So should we, uh, kiss?” Tom asks, deciding that he’d rather ask questions than be unprepared. He’s never had a threesome before, so this is new for him, and he doesn’t want to mess up.

Surprisingly, Braden answers that for him by just fucking going for it, leaning in before Tom starts second-guessing anything. He’s a nice kisser, does the thing where he curls his hand over Tom’s throat, using just the lightest pressure to keep him in place, licks into Tom’s mouth all gentle and exploratory. Even with the stale beer taste and the fact that there’s like, a whole lot of beard happening, it’s real nice.

And then TJ is nosing his way in, hand on Tom’s bicep for support and his chest brushing against Tom’s own, sweaty and sticky with alcohol. It gets sort of confusing for a minute, and Tom definitely catches some tongue in a nostril, but then there’s teeth at his bottom lip, and there’s tongues fucking into his mouth, and his dick is absolutely on board with the overwhelming back-and-forth, sloppy and fumbling as it may be.

Braden switches his attention to the side of Tom’s neck after a while, letting TJ and Tom carry on without him. He’s sort of nuzzling and sucking in a way that is absolutely intended to leave marks, the hand that was on Tom’s throat moving down to skim over a nipple, squeezing and rubbing his chest, and he can’t help the embarrassing whining sounds he starts to make that are muffled only slightly by TJ’s tongue pressed against his own.

They break apart after a moment, spit-slick and breathing harshly, TJ with a hand tucked into his briefs, and Tom nods his head towards it – or, nods as much as he can with Braden still at his throat, his ministrations sending tiny little sparks of pleasure through Tom’s body, waves and waves of them.

“You, ah – _ngh_ , I was gonna,” Tom starts, but TJ shakes his head and pulls his hand away from his dick, wiping his hand on the bedsheets.  

“You first bud.”

Tom isn’t going to argue with that, so instead he lets them do what they want, floating on a haze of happiness and drunkenness and horniness. Braden bites and kisses his way up from Tom’s neck back to his mouth again, tugging him into a kiss while he continues to do that massaging-squeezing thing to Tom’s chest. It’s kind of weird, but feels too good for him to question it. Meanwhile TJ gets one hand jacking Tom’s dick, starting up a painfully slow rhythm, and the other on Tom’s ass, not so much teasing as just grabbing a handful, nails digging into the muscle. It feels almost indescribably good, and for a little while they don’t say much of anything, just low curses and Tom’s increasingly loud moaning.

“You like them huh?” Tom hears after a little while, and at first he thinks TJ is talking to him, but when Braden stops kissing him and Tom cracks an eye open he sees that he’s looking at Braden. Or, more accurately, Braden’s hands on Tom’s chest. Tom’s getting itchy now that TJ’s hand has stopped moving, and he can’t help the twitch of his hips, the low whine of protest that’s a few syllables away from his attempted ‘ _please’._ TJ, who is terrible, slaps his ass cheek in response.

“I’m not ignoring you bud, just noticed how much Braden likes your tits.”

That’s maybe the last thing Tom expected TJ to say, and the mix of embarrassment and shocked arousal sends a rush of blood to his dick so fast he goes dizzy with it, his eyes prickling and his toes curling so hard they start to cramp. Braden’s own dumbfounded expression suggests that he’s going through the same thing, everything shorting out for a moment as he processes what TJ said. In the space of one breath and the next, Braden’s entire face goes red to match his already flushed cheeks, and he looks so guilty it’s kind of hilarious, his hands still on – on Tom’s chest, caught red-handed.

“I’m just saying Willy,” TJ says into the shocked silence, “You got a nice little handful, even nicer when you get your weight back up.”

Tom is still trying to catch up with his body’s own too-fast response to the whole thing to answer just yet, but TJ seems to accept that, because he squeezes Tom’s dick – which is almost painfully hard at this point – and raises his eyebrows like he knows exactly what Tom is feeling right now. Tom’s hips twitch, and he bites his lip, and then TJ is saying something he can’t quite hear into Braden’s ear, who looks flustered but nods in agreement to whatever it was, and suddenly things are happening again. Tom finds himself the center of attention in a way that he didn’t know he’d like so much, and when Braden moves his hands to Tom’s shoulders to push him into the bed, TJ sliding the hand on his ass around to his flank, patting him like he’s a horse or something, he lets them. Happily.

It’s weird, but he hadn’t really thought about how starved for affection they all get through the play-off run, deeper than they’ve ever been before – and there’s the giddy disbelief again, that’ll never get old – craving physical touch that doesn’t come with the caveat of pain. The back pats and the hugs and the hundred other ways they celly together was enough to see them through, but the way everyone on the team has been curled around each other since winning says that Tom isn’t the only one that’s struggled with it.

If the playoffs had gone on much longer they’d have become an entire team of André’s, probably, demanding attention from each other lest they literally _die_ without it. Tom also spares a thought for whoever ended up with André tonight, because he doesn’t think they’ll be getting rid of him any time soon.

“You with us buddy?”

“Muh?” Tom asks, blinking at Braden, who’s hovering over him with his hands on either side of Tom’s head. There’s a conspicuous lack of threesoming going on though, which Tom wants to protest. “Why aren’t we doing things?” He asks.

Braden opens his mouth to say something, but then TJ pops up over his shoulder with a bottle of lube in his hand and a pleased look on his face. “I was looking for your lube. Who keeps lube in their _bathroom_?” Tom just shrugs, and TJ also shrugs, and then he’s uncapping it and pouring it unceremoniously over Tom’s dick.

“Fuck!” Tom yelps, barely avoiding kicking TJ in the balls in reaction to the cold. “Why’d you do that?”

“To keep things going a little longer,” TJ says, “C’mon, stop being a baby, let me jack you off big guy.” And then he’s taking Tom back in hand, and Tom’s closing his eyes at how good it feels, even better when he lifts his chin to ask for a kiss and Braden obliges, pressing a chaste little thing to his lips once, twice, half a dozen times, until Tom’s whining and opening his eyes again, ready to beg him to kiss him properly, only to let out a shocked gasp when Braden ducks down to kiss one of his nipples, wet and lingering and open mouthed and _oh oh oh_. This is new. New and _good._

“Please,” Tom pants, awed at how intense it feels, at how he’d been missing out on something his body really fucking likes. “Please, Braden, ah – _please_.” Braden doesn’t let up, uses one hand to start playing with Tom’s other nipple, flicking and pinching in time with the biting kisses he’s sucking into the sensitive skin around the first. Tom vaguely notices TJ pressing his thumb to the tip of his dick, smearing the precome that’s practically spilling out of him, jerking him off faster now, but all Tom can focus on is Braden at his chest, Braden’s mouth on him, his fingernails digging sharp crescents into his skin only to be replaced by his lips, his tongue, soothing and hot. And then Braden’s turning his face to the side and rubbing his beard against Tom’s chest in one slow, painful movement, and Tom is _gone._

TJ strokes him through his orgasm, going until Tom gets too sensitive and has to bat him away, and then he’s wiping his hand off on Tom’s already come-stained stomach, and sitting back with a grin.

“Your welcome for that discovery Tommy,” TJ says, and Braden rumbles a laugh against Tom’s chest, the vibrations sending goosebumps prickling up over his skin. He feels himself starting to fall asleep against his will, which he should probably be embarrassed or at least apologetic about, but honestly he’s lucky he got this far with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed.

“Wow, I’m pretty sure falling asleep is bad threesome etiquette Willy,” TJ says, and Tom grunts, waves a hand without opening his eyes.

“S’rry,” he mumbles, “Y’ can jerk off on me though.”

“Thanks bud,” TJ says, genuinely appreciative, and Tom sort of drifts a little, hears the sounds of jerking off, of them kissing, feels hands brushing over his skin and his come-slick torso. He can hear Braden’s grunts, and TJ’s quiet _yeah yeah yeah’s_ , and then someone’s leaning in to kiss him – Braden if the beard is any indication, his tongue pressing into Tom’s lax mouth in a way that really shouldn’t be hot but honestly might have gotten him hard again if he weren’t so drunk. He lets Braden take what he wants, strangely finding that he likes the thought of his body being used for someone else’s pleasure. Although maybe that’s the alcohol, because he’s not sure that’s a thought he’s going to be able to act on when he’s sober again.

For now he savors it: the twinges of pain when Braden bites too hard, when TJ’s fingers dig into the meat of his thighs, the both of them saying things like _you did so good Tommy_ and _so hot_ and _so nice of you to let us do this_ , and then the feel of come splattering his chest, and then again – some of it as far up as his neck, warm and wet and disgusting but also kind of hot. Seconds or hours later there’s something rubbing his skin, and he opens his eyes briefly to see that TJ’s swiping at Tom’s chest with his own shirt – he hisses when it catches his nipples, still a little sore, but he gets an apologetic kiss pressed to his shoulder, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, to placate him.

He hears the toilet flush and then Braden’s padding across the room and back to his bed, still naked, and the both of them are curling up around Tom, pushing him into place, Braden at his back with an arm over his chest, and TJ sprawled out in the remaining space, legs tangling with Tom’s. It’s pretty nice, even if they’re all going to get the alcohol sweats in like two hours time and have to separate.

 

There might be some conversation before they fall asleep, but come morning Tom doesn’t remember it. Come morning Tom is too busy staying very very still in hopes his imminent hangover might not hit him to think much about what they did the night before. But then Braden twitches behind him, snuffling at Tom’s neck and pressing in close, morning wood and all, and Tom can’t help but remember. He opens his eyes and finds himself face to face with TJ, who’s also blinking at him blearily.

“Morning,” he croaks. Behind him, Braden mumbles something close to a response and slowly starts to disentangle himself. TJ grunts and runs his fingers through his hair, flopping over onto his stomach and hiding his face in the pillow.

“Think I’m still drunk,” Braden says after a second, and when Tom rolls over to look at him, he’s got his feet over the side of the bed, but doesn’t look like he’s going to be standing any time soon. Tom hums in agreement, trying to figure out if he has any alcohol lying around that he can consume before it hits. TJ grunts again, this time into the pillow.

“I _wish_ I was still drunk,” TJ says, voice just as fucked up as Tom’s is. “Also you look a mess, Tommy.”

It takes a second for Tom to connect that with his hazy memories of last night, with the kisses and the biting and what is absolutely beard burn all over his chest and creeping up his neck. The various hickeys and the fingerprint bruises only add to it. _God_.

“Oops,” Braden says, and Tom gives him a half-hearted glare, thankful at least that they don’t have any hockey in their near future. There’s no hiding the state of his chest.

“Is my neck bad?” Tom asks, thinking of how long Braden had spent with his mouth on Tom’s neck. Braden’s face says he’s thinking about the same thing.

“Uh, not as bad as the rest of you?” Braden answers, looking guilty. Which he should, because a dog mauling would be less bad than the rest of him. “Maybe they won’t notice. I’m sure we’re not the only ones that, uh,”

“Fucked?” TJ says into his pillow.

“Sure,” Braden says. He scratches at his beard for a second. “Vrana I bet.”

“Oh god,” Tom laughs, more memories of the previous night coming back to him. “I’d put money on him being passed out in the bus.”

“In the _street_ ,” TJ says, finally lifting his head from the pillow and slowly manoeuvring himself upright. “Don’t you worry Willy, nobody’s going to notice your sore tits if little Jakub got arrested for public indecency.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Tom groans. He thinks that maybe he should be more regretful about having sex with his teammates, especially teammates who are going to bring it up at every opportunity they can, but either the remaining alcohol or the ever-present phosphorus happiness fizzing around in his belly makes it impossible. And he’s fine with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You may think that the three-way kiss sounds impossible and kind of stupid, but from experience I can tell you it’s only the latter. 
> 
> Also I looked up pictures and it turns out I mis-remembered what Tom's chest looks like and he's like super flat chested lmao. So I guess this is an AU where he has a Chris Evans situation going on? 
> 
> On tumblr[ here.](http://rrgunns.tumblr.com) Comments are always appreciated :)


End file.
